


Billable Hours

by starfall710



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: My First AO3 Post, My First Smut, My First Work in This Fandom, Other, Recreational Drug Use, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4119520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfall710/pseuds/starfall710
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel's working for the weekend.</p><p>(tiny note: pre-season 3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Billable Hours

The glass on the bar belied her purpose. She swirled the three perfect cubes of ice in her gin with a single manicured finger, inhaling deeply. Just to double check, she tapped with her nude platform pump to verify her briefcase was there. A working weekend in Cox Plaza, one of Toronto’s many hubs for international business, was nothing to blink at. Libations were in order if work were to happen. Sensing a wandering eye, Rachel smoothed her dress, sipping her drink.

Leekie’s contact at AxaMed seemed to think their fertility trials merited a closer look from DYAD. AxaMed claimed to have isolated a molecule that, when manipulated, would retrigger an organism’s reproductive cycle. Their results came from old rats on the edge of euthanization that became vivacious and fecund. Leekie was always cautious translating results across species. Last year’s gamble on human trials had proven bust, and now he was reaching. Rachel was pawing at him for advancements. Leekie struck a deal with AxaMed to run trials at DYAD, flying in their research team and a few executives from California, with Rachel at the helm. She appreciated Leekie conceding this one to her, although she never much concerned herself with networking with the lab rats that made things happen. 

Rachel did not mind working weekends, especially at the Cox Plaza stacked with amenities. She quite enjoyed it, actually, observing the others relishing in their so-called accomplishments, resting until the workweek came around again. Rachel understood things did not simply stop because it was Friday. The Cox Bar pulsated with life. Yet, her briefcase, full of abstracts and précis and charts, weighed heavy under her. That abomination was the reason for this. Eyes fell upon her again and she took the gin to her matte plum lips.

The sun was setting and the natural light left the bar’s large fritted windows facing the lake. A mood washed over the place. The white faux-leather couches contrasted against the navy carpet beckoned patrons to sit and mingle in the dim-lit bar. Exchanges grew more hushed and groups drew closer together. Rachel sighed, exhausted at these people. If only they knew there was more to it all as she did. Being self-aware only made her feel more astute.

Rachel tuned back in to Cox’s metropolitan lounge music to sooth her mind from running any more. She clicked her room key card against the wooden bar mindlessly. Tipping her head back, she emptied the glass. The barman’s intuition kicked in and he promptly refilled the seasoned glass with more ice and gin. Rachel gave a narrowed glance, and he gave her a fresh cocktail napkin. 

“A cucumber twist with this one,” she directed. The barman reached into his garnishes and perched a crisp slice of cucumber on the lip of the glass. Rachel let a smile creep across her face as she sipped her drink.

She turned in her barstool to scan the crowd with one eye peeking from under her glossy sheet of blonde hair, her only layer of protection. She fed off the crowd’s vibes, voracious and horny and vulnerable and loose and free. Rachel used to meet those very feelings within her with hatred, feeling herself above such trifles. However, her desire to overcome her intentional flaw had awakened something more primal, more human in her. It nearly disgusted her, but as she learned, sometimes you can’t change who you are.

She finally rose from her barstool as a slick beat filled the air. She slid the barman a bill and handed her briefcase to him with a trusting nod. He beamed. Glass in hand, Rachel coyly tucked some hair behind one ear as she mingled. She could nearly feel her effect on the room as she cut through the crowd, getting deeper to where they were dancing. A man in a well-tailored slate suit touched her shoulder. She downed the majority of her gin, munched on the cucumber, and rested the glass on a chic glass-top table flanking the dancing area.

“Matthew. You in town for the ICFS convention?” He introduced himself as he danced closer. She gave a vacant, but curious, look. If she were to spend this Friday hotel bar grinding, she could at least find out his name.

“Ah, not a cardiologist fellow. Nice to meet you though,” he continued. Entertaining him with a few moves would suffice for an introduction. 

She shook her ass against his groin lightly, turning back to see his face when she pressed in time to the beat. His eyes lit up and he grabbed her waist. The music overtook them, seamlessly bringing them through different genres. He kept letting go to rub his nose, which disrupted Rachel’s rhythm. Frustrated, she was about to turn around and offer him a tissue. Then she put it together.

“You know, they stopped using Coca-Cola’s original formula eons ago,” Rachel taunted. “You need to learn to share. I want to dance like you.” Matthew withdrew and seemed to look for an exit, but Rachel led his hand back to her waist, getting back on beat.

Matthew smiled and flashed his key card. “Want to take this up to my room, honey?”

“Uh-uh. My room,” Rachel advised, shaking her head. She held her tongue, reminding herself of the dopamine release to come. 

They made their way back to the bustling bar, Matthew paying out their respective tabs with a matte credit card. Rachel held in a barely-there nod of approval. The barman graciously handed her briefcase back. She smiled, thanking him, even though it would have been him pleading for life had he not returned it. One could never eliminate those types of scenarios. Rachel’s mind was quick to envision the worst.

The glass elevator shuttled them up to the twenty-third floor. Matthew gushed over the high-end boutiques that could be seen floors down from the balcony that overlooked the middle of the Cox Plaza. Rachel slipped her key card in the lock when they reached her room. She opted for a junior suite so she could have a higher per diem. There were more suites to be had later.

Matthew produced the cocaine from an inner jacket pocket. He dumped two little mounds from a small plastic bag onto a nightstand. Rachel intercepted him.

“Now, aren’t we just excited? Allow me to set the mood,” she cooed. She grabbed the remote and turned on a music channel. Computer-generated visualizations matched the music. “Alright.”

He smiled and signaled Rachel’s line was ready to be snorted. She always felt the same weird pangs of guilt and shame before such activities. As much as she knew how important it was to keep her body pure, there were times she had to indulge, for worse would happen. She hated to think she had ever lost control, or was even capable. Who was to say dabbling in some recreational drugs for a weekend was the mark of a lost soul? The drug shot straight from her nose to her brain, inflating her ego to new, temporary heights. Matthew went next, and soon their hands were nearly glued to each other’s bodies. 

Rachel let her hand rise and fall as she followed the musculature on his back. Her hand found the buttons of his crisp white shirt and undid them. He exhaled heavily, anticipating the pleasure. He turned Rachel around, placing her on the bed to take her shoes off. She smiled as she traced his abdominal muscles. _Dr. Matthew, you are a hell of a specimen_ , she thought. 

Their lips met passionately and hungrily. He stuck a hand in between her thighs, teasingly grabbing her ass, and left the other hand free to shimmy up her dress. Rachel almost swatted his hand instinctively, seeing him carelessly handle her Dolce and Gabbana dress—hotel dry cleaning left much to be desired. She was being fussy, she knew, but she did know herself. She took charge and placed her dress quickly and neatly in the closet. He picked the momentum back up and pressed his shirtless body against her delicate lingerie. He ran a hand through her hair lightly as she returned the gesture.

Rachel had been eyeing the shower for multiple reasons. One, it had many variable settings for her tense body. Two, it looked roomy enough for two. Matthew picked up on this and transitioned them into the bathroom.

She was on her knees getting him off with her mouth. He looked on the verge of coming and he signaled her to stop. He scooped her up and placed her on the marble counter. Her spine tingled in about seven different ways. His warm hands snaked behind her waist. A free hand found a condom and he entered her. He pushed her hair out of her eyes, and she caught her reflection. 

Matthew had taken charge of the situation at hand, leading the rhythm and taking himself to the finish line. Rachel held in exasperated sighs. _Oh, you poor little darling thing._ She threw some moans in there and closed her eyes, hoping that’d make him believe he was actually doing anything.

When she opened them, he was in the shower, beckoning her with a finger to join him. Rachel hopped off the counter and instead went back to the bedroom to get his things ready for him. Then, she joined him in the shower, going through the motions so he could go back downstairs to talk about defibrillators or stents or whatever. The cocaine was wearing off quickly and she ended her shower routine so Matthew would do the same.

“So…I didn’t even get your name, babe,” he said, drying off in the bedroom.

Rachel looked his naked body up and down. “Umm, Sarah. It’s Sarah.”

“Well, Sarah, I’ll be here all week. I think I just heard my teleconference alert go off. Look, I cut more lines but I can’t talk to my Dean of Medicine like that. Post-coital is enough. Help yourself,” he motioned to the drugs on the nightstand. 

Rachel held her tongue again. This was a social situation she was familiar with. She could be herself or she could be nice. “Oh, I know what you mean.”

“That was fun. I’d like to see you again.” 

“Well, good thing we used a condom then.” 

“Yeah, we’d have septuplets by the end of the week if it were up to me,” he joked. He looked at her as if he would rather go through all of medical school again than leave this room. Rachel almost felt sorry for him. “I’ll have the concierge send my room number and a key. I gotta go, Sarah.”

Matthew was dressed, then out the door.

Rachel took to what Matthew left her. She tilted her head back to make sure she got it all up her nose. She playfully shook her head, feeling inflated and grandiose. Her jaw clenched and she inhaled through her nose like she never had before. 

She walked back to the bathroom, staring at her reflection. She touched her face and let her hands explore her décolletage, leading them to grabbing handfuls of her own breasts almost greedily. She let a hand fall down to her bellybutton, tracing a barely-there trail of hair and letting a small, satisfied whimper escape. 

She climbed back on the marble, spreading her legs and slipping a solitary finger inside herself. She kept a slow rhythm then increased her speed slowly. 

Rachel scooted closer to the mirror, her breath warm on the glass. Throbbing sensations bombarded her lower half. She inserted another finger and put her thumb on her clit. Her back arched with the added sensation. Her other hand fondled every inch of skin it could…her nipples, her shoulders, her stomach. 

She rocked back and forth in time with her breathing, licking her lips softly. Her hips rolled forward and back ensuring she got multiple angles. Her fingers nearly slipped out from how wet she was, but she definitely wasn’t through. Another finger went inside. 

Rachel stared at her reflection: mouth agape, hair mussed to one side and her labia poised like a blooming flower. She shoved her fingers deeper and harder, aroused. Her other hand found her clit and she rubbed it twice as fast. She nearly choked on the pleasure climbing out of her throat, not breaking her gaze with herself as she came.

The music from the bedroom seemed to turn on again, even though it hadn’t been turned off. Rachel sighed with deep satisfaction, shaking her head to knock off the haze.

She texted Daniel to forward her AxaMed’s updated itinerary. There was work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Check the tags, I'm a newb! First fic I've written in years as well, kind of testing where I'm at with writing. I'm glad to post here. There are great reads that I hope to be alongside.
> 
> Let me just say I was on the fence about having Rachel use recreational drugs, but I think the clones are prone to risky behavior.


End file.
